


To the very best of times

by monsunwind



Series: The best of times [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Memories, No Mary, Parentlock, Post-Canon, Romance, Series 4 Fix-It, post-series 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9503228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsunwind/pseuds/monsunwind
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and  John Watson live with their four year old daughter Rosie and their bulldog Gladstone in 221b Baker Street.On the 10th anniversary of their meeting in St Barts Hospital, John thinks it's time to take the next step in their relationship.But a marriage proposal isn't that easy. Especially not with a moody detective as a partner and a little ball of energy as a daugther.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 7th anniversary Sherlock Holmes & John Watson!
> 
> I tried to make the best out of the ending they made of series 4.  
> The timeline is four years after the events of TFP and John and Sherlock are in a relationship. I wanted to give especially Sherlock the happy ending he deserves, I mean they didn't even try to resolve some of the bad things that happened to him in the past years and I couldn't cope with the distance they created between John and Sherlock.  
> So here is a fluffy, romantic fix-it-happy-ending for them. They deserve it.
> 
> Have fun reading it!  
> monsunwind

Part I/III

 

_29 th January, 2020_

 

 

 

He feels the warm rays of the winter sun shining onto his skin.

It must be morning.

The thick blanket around him creates the perfect shelter from the outside world. He snuggles his head closer into the soft pillow under him and sighs contently.

He's on the brink of giving into the welcoming darkness of sleep again, when something lightly tickles his nose.

He huffs and digs his curly head even more into the thick pillow, trying to block out this unwelcome distraction and go back to the peaceful sleep he just had, but after a few seconds the tickling feeling continues at his right ear, followed by a faint giggle.

Groaning he slowly turns his head a little so that he can open one eye and squint against the bright light of the morning sun.  
He focuses on the face right before him and a warm feeling floods every fibre of his being. It's the face of the most perfect creature he has ever met in this world. The little girl with her long blonde, unruly hair and the huge, deep blue eyes, crowned with long black lashes, her small, freckled nose just inches away from his own, smiling back at him and gently brushing her soft finger over the bridge of Sherlock's nose.

 

He lifts his hand from under the warm blanket and tentatively strokes over the dark blonde mane of the child before him.

“Morning, Rosie,” he whispers. The girl grins at him and a sparkle comes into her eyes, when she suddenly jumps up and lets her whole weight fall against Sherlock's upper body, to embrace him into a tight hug. Surprised by this sudden attack, the dark haired man moans and can't help but giggle, when the little fingers start tickling his rips. “Good Moring, papa!” Rosie shouts and visibly enjoys the reaction of the laughing man, who's begging her to stop tickling the sensitive spots on his ribcage.

 

 

“What's all this noise that early in the morning?” the sound of a familiar voice interrupts the cheery tussle, as both Sherlock and Rosie look up at the man who just walked into the bedroom, a big wooden tray in his hands.

 

“Hello daddy!” the four year old instantly climbs off of Sherlock's body and jumps down the bed to run to her father and hug his legs tightly.

Laughing John sets the tablet full with an assortment of breakfast stuff on the bedside drawer before him, picks the little girl up and settles them down onto his side of the bed. He lies beside his partner and seals their lips with a chaste, little kiss.

“Morning, love,” the doctor whispers and softly strokes over Sherlock's bare shoulder.

As an answer the brown haired man slungs his arm around John's neck and deepens their kiss a little.

After a few moments John reluctantly breaks away from his lover's lips and leans back, “Enough now. We have a guest in our bed, you remember?”

 

Obviously not satisfied with the sudden interruption of this pleasant moment and pouting his lips, Sherlock lets himself dramatically fall down onto his pillows. John strokes over Rosie's velvety hair and chuckles, while lifting the breakfast tray he brought from the kitchen onto the bed before the three of them.

“Stop sulking, Love. Look, I brought something for us. Coffee for you and me, and cocoa for you Rosie and fresh toast with jam and even strawberries,” John tries to sooth his moody partner, who crossed his arms before his body like a sulking child, having been denied his favourite toy.

 

“Breakfast in bed, John? To what do I own this pleasure, is it already my birthday again?” he asks in a sarcastic voice.

 

John can't help but chuckle, “No, you berk! Your birthday was just two weeks ago, remember? But today is another very special day, of that you are right.”

 

“What day?” Interested Rosie looks up from her hot chocolate, of which she just took a big sip and now licks over the small track of cocoa over her upper lip.

“Is Father Christmas coming again today, daddy?”  
Her blue eyes begin to sparkle in excitement by the thought of Christmas presents.

 

“No, sweetie, Christmas won't be again until next winter,” John carefully explains his little daughter, who nods and has only eyes for the sweet strawberry in her hand now, which she hastily puts into her mouth. After chewing, the four year old tentatively asks, “But couldn't we buy a Christmas tree today? Maybe Father Christmas will see it and come back a little earlier.”

Both man on the bed had to laugh loudly at this childishly, beautiful thought and John embraces his little daughter from behind.

“That's a clever thought, Rose, but I don't think Father Christmas has time for this right now. I believe after this busy days he's having a nice, long vacation. But I promise you we'll be celebrating something else today.”

 

John carefully lifts the full mug of coffee before him, hands it to Sherlock and plants a chaste kiss at the high cheekbone of the detective, who doesn't seem that much offended about John's denial of more kisses anymore.

 

“You know, your papa and me met ten years ago today.”

 

Confused Sherlock blinked a few times, obviously having to process this thought, before he could produce an intelligent answer.

Little Rosie was way faster and interrupted his thought by shouting, “Ten years? You're that old already?”

Again John and Sherlock have to giggle a little, while the smaller man closes the space between them and lets his head fall onto his lover's shoulder.

“Happy anniversary, Love,” he whispers softly.

Sherlock lets his arm wander around John's back and pulls him closer, while Rosie climbs unto her daddy's lap and snuggles against his belly.

 

A warm, fuzzy feeling of being utterly happy spreads inside Sherlocks chest, as he looks down onto his own little family.

He can't hide the smile that forms on his lips, as he lays his head down against John's and feels all tension slowly leave his body.

“I love you,” he can't help but breath into his partner's ear, letting memories of their first meeting flood his thoughts. How young they have been. The instant connection between them, when they first laid eyes onto each other in the small lab of St Bart's Hospital. Their first laugh about their ridiculous chase around London, their first case, their first “date” at Angelo's. What a ride the both of them had.

 

 

Their quite, little bubble soon bursts, as a shuffling against the door was heard, followed by the loud barking of a small brown-white bulldog, that confidently enters the bedroom and comes beside the bed of its masters.

 

“Gladstone!” Rosie shouted excited, when the compact little dog jumped without any difficulty onto the mattress and lets itself be embraced and stroked by Rosie.

 

“John, put the dog down, haven't we agreed it won't come near the bed?” Sherlock reminds his partner obviously annoyed again by their animalistic visitor.

“Oh come on love, let him stay for a minute. It's a special day, there's no time for being grumpy.” John tries to sooth the detective, begins to stroke Gladstone's flank, and lets his hand be licked in appreciation by the dog.

 

“Ewww,” Sherlock makes in disgust by seeing this and lets himself dramatically fall back into the covers and pulls the blanket over his head, to not have to keep watching this abomination.

John chuckles and pats the white mountain beside him. “Don't sulk now, we're leaving already,” he says while gently shooing the dog from the bed and standing up himself, “I think it's time for a little morning walk now. Will you join us? Maybe we could visit the playground afterwards and go ice skating with Rosie. I'd like for us to have a nice day together in celebration of our anniversary.”

 

Rosie was already running out of the room, by hearing about John's plans to go ice skating, as it is one of her favourite activities, while Sherlock lies still under the covers, not really feeling like going out into the cold London morning air.

He feels a dip in the mattress beside him and slowly the blanket is pulled down his head, so he can see the deep blue eyes of the man he loves right before him.

 

“Go on, you big child. You are worse than Rosie today. Accompany us. It'll be fun.”

 

“I hate ice skating.”

 

“I know. You are just supposed to be there and take care of Gladstone and I look after Rosie. Deal? And besides... I have to ask you something important later, so... please come with me.”

 

John looks expectant into Sherlock's eyes. It really seems to be important for him that they spent this day together. So how could he say no?

Letting out a long breath Sherlock slowly nods but lets his head fall back onto the pillow.

“Just five more minutes. Go look after your daughter and this ridiculous dog, I'll be with you when you're ready to leave.”

 

“Thanks, Love,” John presses a delighted kiss on the curly head of the detective and leaves the room to help Rosie change and get ready himself.

 

 

**

 

After everyone's adequately dressed for going outside, they leave their little flat.

They still live in 221b Baker Street.

 

Shortly after the flat got refurbished, after the bomb went up in it and everything was destroyed, they both moved in with Rosie, to Mrs Hudson's delight. The old woman loves to look after her little goddaughter and helps her two boys keeping the flat clean and appropriate for a child.

Some modifications had to be done in order for John and Rosie to move in, as John's old room was now the child's nursery and the man himself moved into the bedroom with his partner.

The problem of the dangerous and sometimes unhealthy lifestyle of the consulting detective, which could be a risk for Rosie, was solved by Mrs Hudson, who gave them the key to her little 221c apartment, which is now Sherlock's playground: Here he can receive clients, shoot the wall and do smelly or explosive experiments with body parts and organs (which are absolutely forbidden in 221b), to his heart's delight.

It took a while but Sherlock has manged to adapt to this new situation life. He wants to make this work.  
John got a new job in a nearby surgery, where he helps out a few days a week to be able to pay for Rosie's needs, which he as her father wants to pay for alone.

Molly, Mrs Hudson and their small circle of friends help them out with their child whenever it is needed, so John even sometimes could accompany Sherlock to some of his cases.

Sure there are a few disagreements and rows here and there but after all this time Sherlock and John know now how the other one ticks and when to back down and let something be.

 

Four years later now they still are learning to adapt to their new life with a child. But they both do their best to be as good as parents as they can be and seeing the little girl being this happy as is she now, tightly grabbing John's Hand while she skates over the frozen ice rink, laughing loudly when John stumbles slightly and almost falling down on his backside, they know that they are doing it the right way.

 

Sherlock sits on a wooden bench a few metres from the ice, deep in concentration to solve one of the cases someone sent him via his website. Gladstone lies slumbering on the small blanket they rolled out for him to rest on after his little morning walk.

 

The detective looks up when he notices that someone is sitting down beside him and smiles when he notices that this someone is John.

“Everything's alright?” he asks after his partner, who apparently is taking a break from ice skating, stating from the exhausted look on his face, the heavy breathing and the abandoned skates he's dropped beside the bench.

 

“Puh, yeah, just a little exhausted and all of my bones seem to ache. I can't believe Rosie isn't in the least tired after skating almost an hour now.

I wonder how we will get her off the ice without risking a big tantrum. I could fall asleep right here and now, if it wasn't that cold.”

The doctor lets his head fall down onto Sherlock's shoulder, who instantly puts his arm protectively around his partner, to share his body heat with him, while continuing to read the case file on his mobile.

 

“Well she's roughly forty years younger than you, don't feel bad about it, you're supposed to rest after such a straining activity.”

 

“What? Do you mean I'm old?”

 

“No... middle aged, I'd say.”

 

“I would say I'm a man in his best years. And you are not much younger than me either!” John replies, a little hurt in his pride.

 

“That's the reason why I'm not participating in ice skating”, Sherlock replies and plants a quick kiss on his partners short greyish hair, knowing full well about the sore spot that is his age.

 

John can't help but chuckle at the smart reply and leans in closer against the detective.

He lets his eyes wander around the ice rink, spotting his daughter, who instantly waves at him and continues to graceful glide over the ice, laughing with another kid that she just met.

Sherlock starts to tip something into his mobile.

“Is this for a case?” John asks curious to which his partner nods.

 

“Yes, but I already solved it. It must have been the brother of my client who transferred all the money on his brother's online bank account to an illegal one in Switzerland, where he lives now and sells drugs for a living, while being a junky himself. There's nothing much to do than report this to the police. I'll let Greg know tomorrow.”

 

John stares at the detective in awe and strokes his arm tenderly, “Well done, genius.”

 

“Thank you,” Sherlock replies with a proud smile and puts his mobile away.

 

Both man sit in silence and enjoy the company of each other, while watching their daughter dance over the ice rink.

Suddenly Sherlock feels the doctor beside him tense a little and takes a quick look at him. He seems lost in thought and nods to himself, before he looks up with a determined look on his face.

“Sherlock... would you like to... walk a few steps with me? There is something I have to talk with you about.”

 

A little confused Sherlock nods and gets up from the bench. A little unsure of what's to come.

He hasn't done anything wrong, has he? The liver he brought from the morgue a few days ago was in the freezer just over night, he doesn't think John has noticed it and his last cigarette has been almost a month ago and he didn't even smoke it in the flat.

 

John grins at him, seeing that his partner looks like a teenager about to have a lecture by his father, “Don't worry love, you haven't done anything wrong.”

 

Confidently he grabs Sherlock's cold hand and wraps his gloved own around it, while holding Gladstone's leash in his other one.

Together they wave at Rosie and start to walk a few steps on the small pathway along the ice rink.

The park they are in looks wonderful in the winter, all trees covered in thick layers of snow and ice, that glistens in the surprisingly warm winter sun.

Sherlock notices how John nervously licks over his upper lip, seemingly lost in thought, while gently sliding over the detective's fingers with his gloves.

They continue to stroll around the ice rink, while John doesn't really seem to notice anything that's going on around him. Absently he strokes his hand through his hair and gives his partner a shy smile.

 

Then suddenly the shorter man stood still. Gladstone beside him, tail waggling and looking up at his master.

Sherlock before, him looking down at his loved one in confusion.

Slowly John puts away his gloves and puts them into his jacket, while taking a deep breath and letting it go.

He fishes a folded white paper out of his trouser pocket and grabs Sherlock's left hand determined in his, intertwining their fingers.

 

“So ahm... Sherlock... as - as this is our tenth anniversary and... after all this time, you know,” frustrated John let out a breath. He looks into the detective's blue-grey eyes and instantly feels calmer. He tries again, “I wanted to ask you... could you... would you like to-”

The moment is suddenly interrupted by a pained cry of a girl, that John immediately recognises as his daughter's.

In an instant the two man were running the few metres that separates them from the ice rink, on which little Rosie lies and clutches at her elbow, while crying loudly.

 

They pick her up and walk her over to the small bench, where Sherlock was originally seated to wait for them and manage to calm her down, while John inspects the thin arm of his little daughter.

Fortunately the elbow just seems a little bruised after Rosie fell on it, but the girl doesn't want to continue the skating out of fear of falling again.

 

So it is settled that they would return home and have lunch there and Rosie can take a little afternoon nap.

Sherlock wraps the blonde girl in his thick Belstaff coat. She instantly snuggles against him and clutches at his blue scarf with her little hands, already on the brink of sleeping after all the excitement.

John walking beside them, one arm casually wrapped around his partners waist, with Gladstone trotting behind the three.

 

“Sorry we got interrupted just now,” the detective speaks in a whispered voice as not to wake the girl in his arms.

John gives him a shy smile while unconsciously stroking his jacket pocket, where he hurriedly crammed the paper inside, when Rosie cried out for him.

 

“Ah, doesn't matter. It wasn't that important. Maybe we can talk about it later.”

 

Sherlock gives him a little disappointed look but nods in understanding.

Now doesn't seem to be the right moment.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and hits since yesterday!  
> Without many words, here is chapter 2 now, hope you like it and maybe leave a little comment afterwards :)
> 
> monsunwind

_Part II/III_

 

 

 

“Is this really necessary?” Sherlock's annoyed deep voice sounds through their living room, where he stands right in the centre, his beloved deep blue scarf, that usually adorns his throat, now tightly wrapped around his eyes.

 

John can't hold back a giggle by the strange look of the at other times stunning face, from which you can only see the pouting lips and parts of the raised eyebrows above the blue fabric.

The other parts of his body are as perfectly clothed as ever. The detective wears a beautifully tailored black suit with a white shirt and his all time favourite Belstaff coat above them.

He has crossed his arms before his chest and taps his left foot impatiently on the rug he stands on, while waiting for more instructions on this farce his partner forces him to endure.

 

“Alright, I think we're ready to go now.” John announces finally, after successfully making sure, that the detective isn't able to see anything through the thick scarf, by rapidly waving his hand before his face.

Rosie stands beside the two man and looks up at Sherlock with a worried look on her face, “But daddy, papa won't be able to see anything!”

 

“Yes, that's the idea. He isn't supposed to see where we're taking him. But we will take good care, so that he won't collide with a lamppost down on the street, won't we?”

 

John winks at Rosie, while grabbing his partner's left forearm, who snorts disdainfully.

“You really think I won't be able to make out where you take me, just because I'm not able to see? **ME**?”

 

“Probably not. But maybe there are a few things going to happen that even YOU with your massive intellect can't predict. So do me a favour and play along now. I promise you, you won't regret it. And besides... it's really nice to have you at my mercy right now.” John answers the detective a little mischievously and slowly starts leading him out of the flat.

 

After successfully managing the stairs (of course totally without any curse words by the detective), the temporary blind Sherlock, John and Rosie stand before their home, where a black limousine is already waiting for them.

One door at the back slowly opens and out climbs the British Government himself, Mycroft Holmes.

 

“Uncle Mycroft!” Rosie shouts out in joy and hugs the tall man, who a little overwhelmed by the enthusiastic greeting, pats the child awkwardly on the blonde head a few times. “Hello, Rosamund.”  
He nods at John and Sherlock in greeting and can't help but grin at the sight of his little brother, who is still not able to see anything and seems highly annoyed by it.

“Oh dear, brother. Is that the new fashion one's wearing their scarves now?” he teases the detective, who instantly responds, “Would you just shut up! What are you even doing here, for God's sake? Wait - I don't really want to know... Just let us get this over and done with now.”  
  
“As you wish. But maybe you can watch your language a little, as there is a young lady with us at he moment.”

With this words the older Holmes sibling again pats Rosie on the blonde haired head and climbs back into his posh car expecting the little family outside to follow.

 

“Can't we just take a cab?” Sherlock whines like a little child and is surprised by feeling a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Don't be such a spoilsport. I'll protect you from this bad big brother of yours. I promise.” he hears Johns voice right by his ear while he is gently dragged in the direction of the car.

 

Once inside, the vehicle starts driving them through the busy streets of the city.

After her little afternoon nap Rosie is fully awake now and sings a happy song about elephants, she learned at her kindergarten the other day, while Sherlock is leaning his head against the cool window of the car and tries to work out where exactly they're going, with all his remaining senses.

 

Where are they taking him?

He doesn't like not knowing things like that and by the third time they drive over the bump in one of the streets parallel to Baker Street, he is fairly certain that the driver of the limousine has the order to randomly drive around the blocks to confuse Sherlock and stopping him from finding out their destination.

 

He huffs in frustration, very tempted to rip the annoying scarf from his face, but resists by the feeling of John's hand soothingly stroking over his left arm.

 

“Not long now.” he hears his partner whisper and tries to relax a little by letting his head sink back into the leather seat behind him.

He relishes the feeling of Johns fingers against his arm, as they continue the stroking motion.

It takes his thoughts back to a few hours ago when, after their little adventure at the ice rink, Rosie and Gladstone had finally taken a little nap on the couch in the living room and Sherlock and John had lain down in their bed to having a little cuddle.

 

_“I love you, you know?” John had whispered into his ear, while he gently massaged his partner's neck, who lay on his stomach before him and instantly responded, “Love you, too.”_  
_After a minute the detective slowly turned around to lie on his back and watched straight into John's blue eyes, finally speaking about the thought that has been nagging at the back of his mind since they've arrived home, “John?”_

 

_“Mh?”_

 

_“Will you tell me what you wanted to talk to me about at the ice rink? It seemed important.”_

 

_He saw John's look wander unconsciously to the floor for a moment, where his jacket lay with the ominous white paper inside._

_The doctor's fingers stopped their now soothing circling on the jolts his shoulders for a moment._

_“I... ahm... I just want to know from you if you...” he pauses._

 

_“If I what?”_

 

_“Doesn't matter.” John ended the conversation by planting a soft kiss on Sherlock's curls and slowly got up from their love nest._

 

Sherlock sighs in frustration. Not knowing about the content on this paper almost drives him mad. When John stood before him at the ice rink, he managed a quick glimpse at the many words, written in the doctor's own handwriting, but unfortunately not long enough to even make out one coherent word.

What is it? Why does it seem so hard for John to talk about it? There must be a lot of sentiment involved. But is this good or a bad?

Stating by the date, as it is their anniversary, the probability of it being a positive occurrence is much higher than this to be something like a break up - a goodbye letter, for instance.

By the thought of this, a tight unwelcome knot forms in his stomach. Old insecurities about not being worth John's love and attention start to materialize in his head.

Losing John and Rosie now that he finally has them, that he finally knows what a family is, is the cruelest thought his mind can possibly torture him with.

 

He instantly retreats out of this dark place in his head, trying to focus on the other facts he gathered, to solve this puzzle. The place they are driving right now must be in close proximity to Baker Street, as they are going over the same bump in the road near their home for the _fifth_ time now.

Combined with the fact that they covered his eyes, spoke for their destination to be some place he knows the way to and have been to fairly often in the past.

A shop? A park?

No - stating by the clothes John asked him to wear, before he blinded him and the doctor's and Rosie's own rather festive attire, it must be somewhere more posh.

So a bar or a restaurant more likely.

Mycroft's presence is another clue, not being despised.

His big brother to be here could indicate that the detective could need some support from him later. For what? Maybe something he isn't that good at coping with? Like Emotions? Socializing?

 

 

He feels his partner's hand gently shake his shoulder and abruptly stops his deductions, only to register that the car seems to have stopped its odyssey around London.

 

Carefully he's led outside and as soon as he took a few steps on the slightly cracked concrete under his shoes, he's walked on many times and by hearing the familiar bright bell sounding, that announces new costumers, he knows exactly were he is now.

 

 

****

 

Without any difficulty John guides his partner into the little restaurant, he came to love over the last few years.

 

Mycroft carries Rosie in his arms and puts a finger on her lips to signal the little girl to be silent, which she seems to understand going by the soundless nodding she does.

 

Sherlock is wordlessly positioned into the centre of the room, a smug smile upon his face.  
He must have already figured out where they are - so much for the little tour they've taken around London to confuse him.

Seeing the person that steps out of the crowd before them now, winking at John with an amused smile on the face, he can't help but grin and takes a step back himself to watch the scene before him unfold.

 

“So, lovely to meet you Angelo. It's been quite a long time, since we last met, I hope your risotto is still as good as I remember it,” Sherlock begins to speak instantly when he hears the footsteps of a person coming near him, visibly proud with his seemingly correct deduction.

 

“I don't know what you're talking about dear, but even if we don't see each other that often, I hope you still remember the name of the woman under which house you lived until you were eighteen years old.”

  
John can't help but laugh at the look of total lack of understanding the situation in Sherlock's face, by taking in the sight of one of the last people he would have estimated to see, when the scarf is finally lifted from his eyes.

 

“Mummy?”

 

While the sight of his mother causes confusion in Sherlock's eyes, the little crowd of people around them, which in this moment starts clapping and shouting “CONGRATULATIONS!”, lets the detective appear almost shell-shocked.

Mission accomplished, John thinks, when he steps forward again and kisses his detective on the high cheekbone.

 

“What is this?” Sherlock mumbles obviously still not really able to process the situation.

“It's a party for you, papa!” Rosie explains, comfortably held in her uncle's arms, while holding a big red balloon from the room's decoration in her hands.

 

“Yes,” John confirms, “a party to celebrate our anniversary together with our friends.”

 

Impatiently Sherlock nods, already seeming to have this worked out on his own, “Yes but why going through all this? Keeping me blind and driving for almost half an our around London, when we could have been here in less than ten minutes.

You could have just told me where we're going.”

 

“Well yeah, but would you have come without throwing a big tantrum of not wanting to celebrate this totally overrated occasion with all this socializing, when you instead could just sit down in your 221c playground and let some chemicals explode and pollute the air in the house?

So instead I gave you the opportunity to do what you love – deducing something – while successfully getting you to the place I wanted you to be, without all the drama and shouting.”

 

John winks at him and Sherlock can't help a grin at the perfectly plausible explanation of his partner.

 

The doctor lets his eyes wander over their circle of smiling friends that are standing in the beautifully decorated room that is Angelo's restaurant.

He can make out Angelo himself, hiding in the back, grinning at them. Molly with her fiancé Andrew, Sherlock's parents, Mike Stamford, Mrs Hudson already on the brink of tears, Mycroft, still with little Rosie on his arm and standing very close to Greg and even Anderson, Donovan and Dimmock from Scotland Yard.

All the people that accompanied them through the last ten years. Their friends.

 

John can't help the tears that come to his eyes and clears his throat a little embarrassed and unsure what to do now.

Mrs Hudson is the first one to break the ice, by stepping forward and embracing first John, then Sherlock and kisses them both on their cheeks. “Congratulations, my boys.”

When she steps back all the other people slowly circle around them and hug them or pat them on their backs, congratulating them on their anniversary.

 

“Congratulations Sherlock. I'm so happy for you.” Molly also hugs the detective and then does the same with John, while quietly asking him, “Have you asked him, yet?” and giving him a conspiratorial look, when they part.  
Knowing exactly what she refers to, John shakes his head in denial.

 

“Asked me what?” Sherlock instantly gets that the question has to do with him and glares at Molly, who stands before Sherlock with big eyes, like a deer caught in the floodlight.

 

John confidently slides between the two of them to defuse the situation, “Nothing important,” he grabs for his partner's arm and drags him to the long table, where their guests now all take place, “come on now, Angelo's risotto is waiting for you.”

 

Fortunately the detective lets go of the subject and follows the doctor to a pair of empty chairs where they sit down beside Rosie, who is still playing with a red balloon, that belongs to the decoration Molly and Mrs Hudson had done to the little restaurant in honour of their friends.

 

“You okay?” John whispers, when they both sit down and Sherlock nods, a little smile forming on his lips as he lets his eyes wander over the people around them, all chatting cheerfully with each other.

The detective and the doctor link their fingers under the table.  
  


  
****

 

An hour later, the little throng of people has eaten the fantastic meals made by Angelo and his crew.

John is watching his partner who plays with laughing, little Rosie on his lap. He can't help but smile at this endearing sight.

 

He leans over and strokes over Sherlock's back, “Don't you think it's time we thank our friends for the lovely evening we just had with them?”

The detective gives him a little annoyed look, clearly not wanting to do that and instead wanted to continue his playing with their daughter, but lets himself be dragged up by his arm.  
As soon as both man stand up and Rosie was silently given to Molly to sit on her godmothers lap, all eyes of the little crowd of people land on them and the whole room falls silent.

 

John clears his throat, thinking about what to say now, not anticipating his partner in supporting him in this situation. He lets his eyes wander over the familiar faces before him. They all helped him and Sherlock through the many rough and many happy times that they've been through. Then he begins to speak.

“First of all... I-I wanted to thank you all for coming and celebrating this important date with us today. It really means a lot to us and we love you all” he starts a little clumsy, reaches out his hand, blindly finds the long, elegant fingers of his partner and intertwines them with his own, while giving the crowd a grateful nod and a smile.

 

“I wouldn't say that I love Anderson that much, but to the rest of this cheesy words, I can agree,” Sherlock's deep baritone voice announces, which earns him a round of heavy laughter, especially from Greg who compassionately pats Anderson, that sits beside him, on the back.

 

 

“Who would have thought that after ten long years, I'd still be around this nutter and not have lost my mind,” John continues a little more confident now and gently he squeezes Sherlock's hand.

Again laughter erupts at this teasing words.

 

“But... well - I have to say... the last years I had the privilege of spending with certain nutter, were the very best of all times, and I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.”

 

After this sentence, the doctor stands up on his tiptoes, to make up for their height difference, slings is arm around Sherlock's neck and tugs him into a loving kiss, which is accompanied by loud cheering and clapping of their friends.

He feels the detective's hands cupping his face.

The taller man's fingers lovingly slide up and down his cheeks when they slowly part their lips and stare at one another.

When John takes in all the love this beautiful light blue eyes radiate towards him, he knows it is time.

There won't be a more perfect moment for this.

 

Without breaking their intense eye contact, he puts his hand into his trouser pocket and blindly fishes the slightly crinkled white paper out, which he's carried with him today.

He cautiously folds it up with slightly trembling fingers and stares at the words he had written down over the last few days.

He risks a quick glance at their friends before them who observe his actions silently and then can't help but smile at the look of total confusion on Sherlock's face, as their eyes meet again. Not a sight one sees very often.

He takes a deep breath and begins to speak, “Sherlock, there are a few words I want you to hear. I hope you like them so... just listen...”

 

 

to be continued.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without many words again, here is the final, very fluffy happy ending for the doctor and his detective.  
> Thank you all for the kudos again :)
> 
> monsunwind

_Part III/III_

 

 

 

Nervously John looks down at the handwritten words he wants his partner to hear now. After all this years of enduring and giving and never asking for something in return. The man finally needs to hear this. So he slowly breathes in and out and begins reading.

“Sherlock Holmes. My love... when I first saw you that day ten years ago in one of St Bart's labs, I was instantly hooked. You were like a drug.”

 

He pauses at the “Awws” that sounded in the room and quickly looks up at Sherlock, who stares at him intently, seemingly not caring about the people around him, giving John his undivided attention.

 

“I-I mean you were an arrogant prick. You were rude and strange, showing off your deductions, awkwardly trying to make me like you... And you succeeded.

So much that I moved in with you after only one day of knowing you.” A round of laughter goes through their little crowd of friends, “That was the best decision I've ever made in my life, to be honest.

You told me once, that I saved your life in many ways... well I only can say, you saved _mine_ , too. So many times, in so many ways. When I came back from war you gave me back the life of a soldier with all those adventures we had. Believe me, I wouldn't be here today, if it wasn't for you.” pausing he lets out a shaky breath by the thought of the darkest time of his life, with the PTSD that almost drove him into committing suicide.

 

“But not only this, you saved me by being you. That was all I needed. This ridiculous man with his cheekbones and his collar he always turns up to look cool.

Your mad experiments, your late night violin concerts, your sulking for days on end, your complete inability to manage your money or keeping even one room in the flat somewhat clean.” he stops again, giving the detective the time to process all that has been said.

 

“Sherlock, you are the strongest man I've ever met. You've been so brave all this time. You have such a kind, big heart. Back then you didn't know how to show it. You hid it, because of all the people who hurt you in the past. But I always knew it was there. And I can't believe I am the lucky one who now has the privilege of receiving all this love from you everyday.  
I think I speak for Greg, Mrs Hudson, Molly and all the others in this room today, that we owe you so much.

You've gone through hell for us - You willingly let your reputation and all the work you love so much be destroyed and jumped of a bloody hospital roof, to keep us safe. You've been tortured, you got me out of a bonfire, not thinking about getting hurt yourself, you planned my whole wedding and taught me how to dance, even though it broke your heart to lose me... you even shot a man for me and went on a undercover mission, that you wouldn't have survived.”

John takes a deep breath before continuing, “You saved your sister, who has stolen your childhood home and your best friend from you. You've... been so kind to my wife and have been there for me and Rosie, when she died.” He gulps and closes his eyes by the thought of Mary, lying before him, bleeding out, “I'm so... so sorry for the way I behaved around you back then. I know there is no apology for the things I did to you. It wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault.” With a serious look he looks up at Sherlock.

“You gave Rosamund the best parent she could ever ask for. She loves you so much and so do I.”

Both of them glance over at said little girl, sitting on Molly's lap and listening to her parents with sleepy eyes, exhausted from the day's events.

 

Slowly John reaches out his shaking hand and lets it slide over Sherlock's cheek. The taller man is watching him totally overwhelmed with the situation and has a hard time to maintain his breathing, that comes in short huffs.

 

Without looking back down on his prepared words, the doctor continues speaking out everything he wants his loved one to hear, gazing into those beautiful light blue eyes. “You are the best man and the most human human being that I have ever known.

You gave me and Rosie a home and a family and I just want to say... thank you. Thank you, Sherlock Holmes. I-” John's next words get caught in his throat, when he feels the arms of the detective encircle his frame now into a strong hug. He inhales the sweet smell of Sherlock's soft curls, as they are pressed right under his nose and feels the shaking of the bony shoulders, that he slowly strokes with his hands, as his partner seems to have lost the battle with oncoming tears.

 

“Hey, it's okay. We're fine. Was it too much?”

The curly head shakes against his neck, then it is raised and the detective presses his heavenly soft lips against the doctor's.

They deepen their loving kiss, lost in each other and both filled with so many emotions, not really registering the cheering that is going on around them.

John lets this go on for a little while, until he sinks his forehead down onto his partner's.

With his right hand he wanders down the slender arm of his opponent until he reaches the long, elegant fingers, which he intertwines with is own.

Slowly he sinks down on one knee, never breaking eye contact with Sherlock.

A little black jewellery box is fetched out of his jacket and John releases Sherlock's hand to open it and to present him the golden ring that lies inside on velvety fabric.

 

It's totally silent in the room now.

 

With a shaky voice he begins to speak anew, “So... I think it's time now.”

And then the most important sentence finally is spoken, “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

 

Sherlock doesn't say a word. He doesn't say a word for a long time.

He just stands there and blinks, his shiny eyes fixed on the engagement ring John is showing him. John knows this behaviour of his partner.

He witnessed it quite a few times over the last ten years. Too much information. Too many emotions.

He hears a nervous cough from someone in the background. Maybe he shouldn't have done this surrounded by so many people.  
Abruptly he gets up from his kneeling position and takes a tentative step into the taller man's direction, trying and finally achieving to get eye contact with Sherlock again.

“Will you marry me, Sherlock?” he repeats his question, giving the detective a confident smile.

 

He sees another teardrop slowly sliding down the pale cheek of his partner and wants to end this overwhelming situation for him, when all of sudden the man comes to live.

 

“Yes,” Sherlock breathes, his whole face radiating with happiness now and then he repeats the word much more confidently, “ **Yes**. Yes, yes... I want to marry you.”

John almost can't contain all the love he feels in this moment, while pressing his partner's familiar body against his own again, stroking his hands over his shoulder blades. Both man savour the feeling of being that close. Feeling their fluttering hearts against each other's chests.

 

After a little eternity they loosen their embrace and are instantly surrounded by their friends and family, who come to congratulate them for the second time that day.

Sherlock's mother grabs the doctor's face between her hands and plants a big kiss on the cheek of her imminent son-in-law, while the detective's father enthusiastically shakes his hand and bids him welcome in the Holmes family.

Even Mycroft awkwardly hugs his brother and John for a few seconds and Anderson bursts into tears, while embracing Sherlock.

Rosie is raised into John's arms.

She hugs her daddy tightly and is given a kiss on the cheek by Sherlock, who is standing beside his little family now, placing his arm protectively around his partner's waist.

 

 

 

****

 

 

 

“She's finally sleeping.” yawning John comes down the stairs from his little daughter's bedroom. After the events happening earlier at their anniversary, John just barely and only with a long session of goodnight stories, got the overexcited toddler to fall asleep.

“Well done!” Sherlock sits in his usual chair by the mantle, taking a sip out of the mug of tea in his hand. The fire beside him crackles and warms the air around them.

Gladstone, their little dog lies before the fireplace and snores softly.

 

Smiling by this domestic sight, John steps closer and drops a kiss on his fiancé's curly head.

Then he sits down in his own armchair and takes the mug Sherlock put down for him on the little coffee table by his side.

He tastes the strong flavour of camomile tea, and lets it's soothing effect wash over him, while watching Sherlock turning the golden ring on his right ring finger around with his other hand.

 

“It fits perfectly,” the detective announces proudly, seemingly fascinated by the tiny piece of jewellery.

 

John smiles at him and nods in confirmation.

 

“John... I wanted to thank you for all the things you did for me today. All that you said, you didn't have to-”

“Would you stop this!” the doctor interrupts Sherlock's words immediately.

“I did have to tell you all this. I so regret not doing this many times before. After all you've been through I wanted to show you that you are loved... you are so, so loved by so many people, Sherlock.”

 

John sees his partner's eyes rapidly getting shiny again.

 

“Oh, come on now. No more tears. I think there have been enough emotions for one evening, don't you agree?”

Sherlock sniffs and nods. John notices the little wrinkles around the detective's eyes appearing now, a sign that he is really exhausted.

 

“So, will you come to bed with me now, William Sherlock Scott Watson?”

 

The detective's eyebrows instantly shoot up. He looks rather scandalised, not in the least as tired as just a second before.

“'Watson'? I can't take on your name! I have an international reputation as a consulting detective, people all over the world know it. It's not something I can change just for fun.”

 

“Well I am a decorated war hero and a very appreciated doctor with years of work experience in various fields. So I think that counts more than your 'international reputation' and your invented job. You should feel honoured to be a Watson.“ John shoots back quickly.

 

This statement seems to have made Sherlock rather speechless, as he just blinks with slightly open mouth now.

 

They stare at each other for a moment, until John can't hold back a giggle anymore that instantly diffuses the situation. This wasn't really a topic worth fighting for, for him.

He climbs out of his armchair and bridges the little space between them with two steps, to gingerly sink down on the detective's lap and wraps his arms around his loved one's neck.

He locks his eyes with him.

“I don't care what my last name is... I even would take on Mycroft's forename, as long as you become my husband as soon as possible.”

 

“Really? Can I call you Mycroft then from now on? I always wanted to do that.” Sherlock smiles mischievously.

 

“Oh shut up, you dork!” John laughs and pulls the man before him into a gentle kiss. Sherlock's hands wander into his lover's hair, stroking over the blond-grey strands, while he continues kissing the soft lips before him. After a few minutes John deepens their kiss, dips his tongue into Sherlock's mouth and is instantly welcomed by the other one's.

He feels Sherlock's hand wander from his hair down to his neck, where the detective softly strokes his skin.  
  
Reluctantly he breaks away from their kiss for a second to whisper into his lover's ear, “Maybe we should continue this at a little more comfortable place, what do you think?”

 

Sherlock just stares at him with a passionate look in his eyes.

 

“Alright then, take me to bed now, fiancée.”

 

John slowly climbs off his opponent's legs and offers him his hand to help him up, which Sherlock grabs without hesitation. The golden engagement ring on his slender finger glistens in the slowly dying light of the fireplace.

 

They smile at each other and arm in arm the doctor and his detective leave for their bedroom, closing the door behind them.

 

**

 

**The End.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it.  
> Hope it wasn't too OOC.  
> I just wanted John to do a little speech a la Sherlock's best man speech. Sherlock really needed to hear this things once in his life ;)  
> What did you think about it?
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe I will find the time to write a wedding chapter. I'd really love to wed these boys :)


End file.
